


Don’t you have any idea what it would do to me if you died?

by AlexandriaLynn



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, smutty fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:22:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandriaLynn/pseuds/AlexandriaLynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when Sherlock is almost killed and what John would do to protect him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don’t you have any idea what it would do to me if you died?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, i hope you enjoy. I've been trying to improve my smut lately because i'm awful at it and still pretty new to writing fics, but hopefully I'll get better soon and i hope you enjoy!
> 
> quintospine.tumblr.com

John woke up in a dimly lit basement, tied up to a very uncomfortable chair. _Shit._ The last thing he remembered was when he and Sherlock were at the house of the woman who was murdered. Her distraught husband seemed very nice and even made then both a nice cuppa. Ah, he must have drugged the tea. Sherlock had been right from the very start, ‘It was the husband, John. How obvious. How _boring_.’ Sherlock had said the very first minuet they were on the case.

The memory made the doctor franticly alert. Where the hell was Sherlock? John’s eyes swept the room, looking for pale skin, dark curly hair, vividly light blue eyes, anything that was Sherlock. When John finally saw the man, his stomach wrenched. Sherlock sat tied up to a chair much like John was; only Sherlock was covered in blood. His lips were swollen and John could see the large, hideous bruises starting to form around them. His usually soft curls were matted and dripped with a red tinted sweat. The sight made John burn through a range of emotions in a matter of seconds. The pain of seeing his best friend like that, fear that Sherlock could have serious damage, annoyance that he couldn’t release himself from the restraints to go check on him, but most of all anger.  Anger pulsed through every cell in the good doctor’s body. He wanted to kill the man who’d done this. He wanted to make him suffer. Anger was the most dominate of all his emotions, until the man walked into the room, holding a gun. Every emotion drained from John leaving only one: desperation.

No. Oh, God no he couldn’t let the man kill Sherlock. He couldn’t let Sherlock die. John struggled to free himself and started to thrash around until the chair he was in went tumbling to the ground. The man looked over to John and smiled. His name was Mr. James. It was Mr. James who killed his own wife. It was Mr. James who was about to murder Johns closest friend. John didn’t know what to do, so he pled.

“Please, please don’t do this. I’ll give you anything! Please don’t kill him.” In the midst of his begging, John’s voice broke. He couldn’t hold in the hysterical sobs the escaped his mouth. Tear stung his eyes and blurred his vision. It took him a full three minutes to regain some sort of composure, all the while Mr. James stayed silent. Staring. The cruel man stepped closer to John, starting to aim the gun at him, until Sherlock spoke.

“Don’t be an idiot James,” The detectives voice was hard, concentrated “Killing an Army man? Your sentencing will be a hundred times worse when you get caught.”

“What makes you think I’ll be caught?” Mr. James’ words came out smoothly but even the less observant John could tell he was struggling to keep his calm façade up. “Ain’t I fool you? Worlds smartest man? How they gonna know I’m guilty? They won’t. Not with the two of you dead.” He finished his small rant and strut over to where John was again. He rested the barrel of the gun against the army doctors skull.

John figured this was the end, so he silently prayed that somehow Sherlock would make it out of this mess, and he let his mind slip into the very fond memory of he and Sherlock at dinner just after solving a big case. Sherlock has been radiant the entire night and more than once John failed to hold back the comments of how truly brilliant his best friend was. Not that Sherlock seemed to mind…

And then suddenly there was a loud crash and Mr. James was lying on the ground. Sherlock had by some unknown means freed himself and had landed a very firm punch to the man’s jaw. He took a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and put them on Mr. James, only so that he was stuck in the very chair he’d tied Sherlock in. The detective then released John and helped him to his feet. The intense relief of the both of them being free, being safe, flowed through John and made him nearly dizzy. Sherlock texted Lestrade what had happened and details on where to find Mr. James. Then, both he and John went out to the street to get a taxi.

When they were settled in the warm cab, John turned to Sherlock. Although his eyes were bright from wrapping up the case, he still bled from various places and John feared that his nose might be broken, but it was impossible to tell with all the blood in the way. John suggested that they go to a hospital to have Sherlock checked out.

Sherlock scoffed at the idea. “Really, John, I could just have you treat me for anything at home. There is no reason for me to have to deal with people.” And Just as John was about to say something about the fact that Sherlock seemed to not include him in the “people” category, Sherlock spoke again.

“And John, please, the next time we are being held captive by a murderous psychopath, you might want to think better of drawing attention to yourself. That man had practically forgotten about your existence until you started to talk to him.”

This, to put it mildly, pissed John off.

“Sherlock, What the hell? Did you really expect me to keep my mouth shut as that man was about to kill you? I’m _glad_ that I took his attention, better I go then you.” That last bit slipped out of John’s mouth without any warning to either of the men. John hadn’t even realized he had been thinking it until he vocalized it.

To be honest, he didn’t know what to expect of Sherlock’s reaction, but it most definitely wasn’t this. Sherlock turned his whole torso to the man beside him in the small cab.  His once exited eyes were now pained. He spoke quietly, gently.

“Don’t say that John. You have so much to live for. You have your job and your sister and your girlfriends-” he said the word girlfriends with a bit of disgust “-you have your entire life. And…. Don’t you have any idea what it would do to me if you died?” Sherlock’s voice shook slightly at the thought and John stayed quite. He really didn’t know what to say. The rest of their journey home was completely silent.

When they arrived home, John led Sherlock into the bathroom without a word. He sat Sherlock down and grabbed his bag. He slowly and carefully wiped the blood off of Sherlock’s face and was much relived to find that nothing was broken, and that he was able to fix Sherlock up fairly quickly.

“You should get a shower; wash the blood from your hair. I’ll make us some tea.” John said as he was leaving the bathroom but he wasn’t all of the way out when Sherlock started undressing. He caught a glimpse of the detective’s slim (but still strong) chest and he felt a jolt of something he didn’t quite understand. He figured he was just happy Sherlock seemed to be mostly unharmed and went off to make the tea.

About fifteen minutes later Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed but his dark hair still damp. John was very pleased to see that, other than some bruising, Sherlock looked just as he always had. Despite this, though, John wanted to do another quick check up just to make sure everything was in order. He handed Sherlock his tea, then sat his own on the coffee table. With a gentle, sure touch that only a practiced doctor could possess, John held Sherlock’s jaw and twisted it around to get a good look at both sides. Sherlock complied without complaint. And then John did something that he never expected himself to do. Whilst holding Sherlock’s beautiful face in his hand, he pulled it down to him and pressed his lips to the pale pink ones of the detective. Now, John wasn’t an idiot. He recognized that Sherlock was a handsome man, and whenever he wore that tight purple shirt it would make Johns stomach twist in a very pleasant way, but John hadn’t expected what he felt in that moment as their lips were together. He loved Sherlock. He loved Sherlock, not in the way he had thought for so long, as a dear friend, but rather in the most intimate way a person can love another.

John pulled away, started by his revelation. He looked up at the man he loved with wide eyes. The doctor watched Sherlock carefully, judging his reaction. Without a word Sherlock pulled John close in another kiss. But this kiss was different. All of the awkwardness and uncertainty of the first kiss was gone, and now their lips melted together fluidly. Sherlock slammed John’s body against the nearest wall and proceeded to kiss him with every bit of passion he usually reserved for the most imaginative of murderers. Sherlock pulled away for a fraction of a moment to catch his breath, and John’s lips moved to kiss under Sherlock’s jaw, his neck, his collar bone. Sherlock let out a breathy moan that made Johns entire body feel as though it had caught fire. He kissed harder now, focusing on Sherlock’s long neck. He sucked and bit and kissed at the smooth skin there until Sherlock was trembling, clutching John for support.

Not wanting to break their contact, both men stumbled clumsily to the couch where John fell on top of Sherlock. He wanted to make Sherlock moan like he had before. He wanted the entire room to be filled with the sweet sound of Sherlock losing control. He moved from the pale neck down to right above the first button of Sherlock’s shirt and undid it. He continued that way, kissing his way down Sherlock’s torso as he undid button after button. He lingered after the shirt was open on the space under Sherlock’s belly button but just over where his trousers started. He kissed at the sensitive skin there and he could hear the shaky breath of his flatmate, and then slid off Sherlock’s trousers and pants in one smooth motion. He looked up at then man he loved and, as if asking for permission, looked into his ice blue eyes. Sherlock nodded desperately, wanting John just as much as John wanted him.

John took a breath, then took the tip of Sherlock into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around for a good minuet and Sherlock was begging for more. Not one to deny Sherlock, he obliged, taking the length of him into his mouth.

“Oh, God! John!” Sherlock’s deep voice boomed through the room. John Sucked harder and harder, with Sherlock panting underneath him. The detective was alternating between moaning and chanting Johns name. John could tell Sherlock was almost spent, so he sucked even harder than before and Sherlock screamed out his name as he finished.

Between the taste of Sherlock and the sounds Sherlock had made, John was almost mad with desire. Wanting to let Sherlock enjoy the feeling he had just gave him, John decided to quietly help himself. He slid down his jeans and started to put his hand down his pants when another hand, this one pale with long fingers, stopped him. John groaned in his need that was close to pain. Sherlock wrapped his own hands around John and john let his head fall back on the couch and closed his eyes in ecstasy as he felt Sherlock stroking and pumping. It didn’t take him long to finish and Sherlock grabbed a towel to clean up the mess. After that was done he lay down on the couch and pulled John against his chest. John cuddled up happily to his lover.

“John, I really do love you. It scared the hell out of me when that man came toward you with that gun.”

“I love you, too.”

And they laid there in there loving haze for almost twenty minutes, just enjoying each other’s company, when Mrs. Hudson came through the door.

“You know, boys, the next time you decide to have a frolic around the flat, could you keep it down?” She said in a teasing (and very satisfied) voice.

Both men laughed and they continued on the rest of the day, the rest of the year, the rest of their lives in the happy company of the man they loved.   


End file.
